


unrest

by troubledpancakes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Visions of smut (nothing explicit)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 03:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2606906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubledpancakes/pseuds/troubledpancakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>three times Clarke walks in on Bellamy sleeping and has to wake him up for an emergency.  + one time it's the other way around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	unrest

**Author's Note:**

> **anonymous tumblr prompt:** "Three times Clarke walks on Bellamy sleeping and has to wake him up for an emergency. And one time it's the other way around. (Bonus points for half naked Bellamy)... feel free to write some annoyed!Clarke or annoyed!Bellamy and/or fluff and kissing... whatever you want. Thanks!!"
> 
> Oops, this definitely morphed into… something. Thanks for the prompt, I hope you enjoyed it, even if it’s not exactly what you expected. It gets a little… spicy, and angsty. Sorry, not sorry. Leave me some love.

**i.**

"Fuuuuuh—" Bellamy moaned as the light scattered around the tent. He had spent weeks trying to find a way to block out all of the sun so he could sleep whenever he got a chance— night patrols were hellish on a persons sleep schedule.  
  
"Get up, Bellamy."  
  
He turned and let out another muffled groan into his pillow, pulling his blanket up over his shoulders.   
  
"Move it, asshole."   
  
Bellamy suddenly felt a tug and the chill of the September air caused goosebumps to rise on his naked torso. Bellamy jerked violently on the pallet he called a bed, twisting so he could see his blonde-haloed interloper hovering over him with an unamused look on her face.   
  
"It’s  _your_ turn to deal with Jasper and Monty blowing up the kitchen, again.”   
  
"But, I did it last time," he said, voice still thick with sleep as he rubbed his eyes.  
  
"Yeah, no you didn’t." Clarke threw a shirt at him, "Kindly remind Jasper that he promised not to blow the kitchen up again and that if he did, he’d rebuild it with his bare hands… alone." She titled her head with a smug smile and turned on her heels.   
  
Bellamy moaned, pulling himself up from the pallet.  _Goddamn it— Jasper fucking Jordan, I’m going to have your ass for this._  
  
**ii.**  
  
He was in the middle of a dream— his hands trailing over soft curves; blonde waves cascading over tanned shoulders as plump breasts bounced slowly over him. A soft moan came slipped from his mouth as his core tightened.  
  
_"Mmm, Clar—"_  
  
"Bellamy," a soft whisper as he felt a slight jostling. Something warm touched his shoulder. "Bellamy!" The voice was louder this time.  
  
"Ah, hm, what?" Bellamy’s senses suddenly waking up. His eyes flew open to see his co-leader perched on the edge of his bed. The room was still fairly dark, but she was sitting too close. Acutely aware of his growing arousal, he turned away from her, wriggling below his blanket in attempts to sort his situation out.   
  
"Hey, Octavia’s here. She wants to see you."  
  
He threw a look over his shoulder, “In the middle of the night? Is she okay?”   
  
"I think so, she’s alone."  
  
Bellamy, finally having pulled himself together, turned to pull himself up slightly, resting his weight back on his forearms. He cleared his throat, “Yeah, okay. I’ll be there in a minute.”  
  
Clarke nodded and rose from her spot on the pallet, lingering a moment as Bellamy pulled himself from the bed, his taut muscles reflecting the soft light of the candle in the corner. She snapped to and hurried out, leaving Bellamy still half naked in his sanctum.  
  
**iii.**  
  
He hadn’t been sleeping well the past few days. His mind still went back to the cliff, Clarke slipping, her small hands grasping at the loose stones on the edge as she struggled for purchase. He almost lost her.   
  
He was supposed to take the shift at dawn. He had turned in early in an attempt to at least garner a few hours of precious shut eye— but every time he closed his eyes her voice echoed through his head.  
  
Bellamy just laid there on his pallet— on top of the covers. He hadn’t even bothered to remove his shirt or his boots. His chest rose and fell steadily as he tried to relax his breathing and his heart rate.   
  
He had been too far away. He couldn’t help her. He watched her tumble over.  
  
But she was strong. She was still here. She pulled herself up— hands bleeding, a deep gash across her abdomen. She was _strong_. He had to be too, they were in this together—  _except he didn’t know if he could have survived if she hadn’t._  
  
He tried closing his eyes, only to hear the soft rustling of the tent flaps.   
  
"Hm?" He grunted toward his house guest, not bothering to open his eyes.  
  
"Uh, it’s your watch." The words tumbled out of her mouth like a secret.  
  
Bellamy turned his head to look at her, her face still gaunt with exhaustion— a small gash below her left eye still healing. He nodded at her, pulling himself off the bed to follow her outside.   
  
He turned toward the gate, Clarke matching his step.  
  
"You just finished a double-watch, Clarke. Go get some sleep."  
  
Clarke shuffled her feet, “Nah, I’m good.”  
  
He met her eyes, they were tired— her normally bright blue eyes were dulled. “Yeah, okay. Perimeter check. Let’s go.”   
  
She let out a small smile, and kept in step with him as they left the camp.  
  
******\+ iv**  
  
Clarke squirmed under her pile of blankets. She thought creating a nest to melt down into would help her sleep— it didn’t. She was so tired. So, so tired. Her body ached and her mind continued to run at a million miles an hour. She stretched her body out, curling her toes out so they popped and the rest of her joints groaned against the movement.  
  
She threw the covers back, the cool air chilling her now sweaty body and she shivered. She always kept the flap to her tent open, it gave her more of a peace of mind if she could still see the courtyard and the main entrance into camp. She had positioned her tent like this on purpose.  
  
The moon was particularly bright that night, but suddenly a shadow crept over the entrance, blocking any moonlight from entering. A tall figure ducked under the tarp and approached her. Clarke sat up, alert.   
  
The figure came closer until the moonlight was finally able to stream in again, revealing none other than Bellamy Blake, shadows dancing across the freckles on the bridge of his nose.  
  
"Bellamy? Is everything okay?"  
  
He swallowed hard, “Yeah, no, everything is fine. I just—”  
  
Clarke raised an eyebrow, trying to meet his eyes as they darted around the tent.  
  
"I just— I couldn’t sleep, and I, uh— thought maybe— I don’t know."  
  
Clarke’s features softened and she rose up to her knees, sitting up on the edge of the pallet, her face only meeting his midsection. She took his calloused hands in her own, scarred palms and looked up at him— finally forcing him to look at her.  
  
He wore his heart on his sleeve sometimes— every emotion painted across his face. Pain, anger, anxiety, sadness— but also hope, determination, strength. He brushed his thumbs over the the delicate skin still healing from the accident (she was too stubborn to allow it to heal properly, ripping the cuts open every time she went to work on repairing the wall).   
  
She pulled him down toward the pallet, guiding him to the empty space beside her. He kicked off his boots as he hovered over the pile of blankets that Clarke had created. They moved together, bumping and wriggling until they were both beneath the covers facing each other. Bellamy brought a hand to Clarke’s face, cupping it softly just below that gash under her eye. She titled forward slightly, and Bellamy leaned in. His lips met her forehead in a searing kiss, his mouth hot on her skin— a moment passing before dropping his own forehead to hers.   
  
"You okay now?" She whispered.  
  
"Mmhm," he breathed, eyes closed as he felt Clarke press her body against his— tangling their limbs together, every inch of their bodies touching.   
  
"Okay."   
  
Clarke shimmied down farther into the covers, tucking her head under Bellamy’s chin. And they stayed like this, eventually both drifting into a sleep neither one of them had experienced for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://nathenmiller.tumblr.com).


End file.
